


it's been a long, long time (you'll never know how many dreams I've dreamt about you)

by halogensleep



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Boys In Love, Bucky Barnes Feels, Falling In Love, Gay, Gay Romance, Gay Sex, Gentle Sex, Love, M/M, Male Slash, Protective Bucky Barnes, Slash, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve and Bucky - Freeform, Stucky - Freeform, Stucky happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:42:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22185811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halogensleep/pseuds/halogensleep
Summary: Where do heroes go when there's no more wars to fight? Steve learns the loveliest of lessons when his shaggy haired, lion hearted man finds him once again. This time, Bucky isn't letting him go. (Set post Endgame)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 1
Kudos: 37





	it's been a long, long time (you'll never know how many dreams I've dreamt about you)

From his spot in the middle of his entire world, he stared longingly at the bottom step of the porch, almost memorizing it in so many different ways. Life had taught him that there were few constants that could be depended on to tell the time — not even time itself anymore. There was simply too much of it. Too much disjointed, jagged-ended, snipped and chopped and sewn back together time.

The bottom step where a dandelion had busy for some weeks making honest work of sprouting up through the crack. The lady who lived at number 44 and said ‘good morning’ before catching the 8.02 bus into town. The wrinkles on the back of his hands; how they had seemed to deepen and spread since Peggy- _well_. Since Peggy had passed. These methods proved a far more reliable and earnest way of keeping track of things. They grounded Steve’s world in something real, something joyously and painfully lived. And to live—really, really live—now that was _something_ , Steve thought without an ounce of resentment in his heart.

“Hello you,” a voice said calm and quiet, the shape of it warm and gravelly and all so familiar — a voice lost to time and yet never, not for one moment, forgotten. “So… this is where heroes go when there’s no more wars to fight, huh?”

There should be a sense of urgent excitement. A whip of the neck. A widening of the eyes. A rush of hands and bodies colliding and questions uttered so quickly that they crash and overlap one another. In the void of these things exists only calmness, only subdued amusement, because of course, of course that shaggy haired boy would find him someway or somehow.

“Hey Bucky. It’s been a while,” Steve said, a small quirk finding the corner of his mouth as he shuffled across to make room on the porch step.

He catches a glimpse of Bucky but denies himself the pleasure of the unabridged view. He’s a shaggy haired boy no more, those days have passed for both of them. Bucky’s older now, silver haired and a little shy of fifty, maybe even sixty if life has been exceptionally good to him. There are new scars, a bullet graze on his bicep, and Steve will hear the long version of every last one of his war wounds like punctuation marks that bridge the gap between them from one encounter to the next. For now, the dandelion is unfurling through the crack, and Steve consumes himself with the sight of it.

“So, you chose the girl?” Bucky sighed and crossed his ankles, unresentful about it.

“Isn’t that what all heroes do in the end?” Steve scoffed slightly and fiddled with his hands.

“Not me.”

“Not you,” Steve agreed and nodded his head. “Did you find a little happiness at least?”

It makes Bucky laugh softly, almost. His voice is a deep thunderous storm, a fistful of gravel, a hot smouldering crackle of fire, and yet somehow he laughs gently. It’s new and strange. It suits him, Steve thinks. It reminds him of youth and boyhood, of wars that were fought with sticks and twigs, where the only casualties were scraped knees and bruised egos. Still, he cannot look at anything other than little dandelions doing their best.

Bucky doesn’t answer. “Were _you_ happy?” he asks instead.

“She was a good wife, even on our worst days we were good to each other, kind to each other. Peggy was a good wife,” Steve insists pridefully, always the good honourable man. “I think we knew happiness, yes.”

“I’m glad, buddy.” A calloused palm finds Steve’s shoulder and squeezes tight. “Should I grab us a couple of cold ones?”

Steve nodded and finally looked at him, really looked at him. There he was. That shaggy haired, overbearing, lion-hearted man… there he _finally_ was. The scrag on his chin had grown into something that resembled a silver-speckled beard, and his eyes were filled with wars that Steve would have to drag out of him the hard way around, but his tender, soft-hearted, worrier of all things was under there somewhere, still.

“Something tells me you’re going to be staying a while.” Steve weakly smiled, an apology of sorts for the loneliness he had put in both of their hearts. “I’ll put sheets in the guest bedroom.”

“Don’t,” Bucky whispered instantly.

***

There were sounds of movement downstairs long before the crack of dawn. Cupboards opening and spilling out, drawers rifled through, chairs dragged and pushed. It startled Steve from his sleep, bare legs tangling the blankets, his hand instantly searching the side table for the revolver… until he suddenly remembered. Then, his body slackened in barely awake relief. Bucky, he thought with a smile. _Bucky_.

If Peggy only knew the things he did last night, the things that had been done to him in turn… Steve closed his eyes and allowed the guilt to leave him slowly, felt it drift away like the mist of a January breath. 

Peggy was anything but petty, he had promised to love her until death did them part and despite what had long since come to pass, he still did. He loved her. Peggy was _loved_ . Peggy was gone. Peggy was missed. And Bucky was _here_. These things… these feelings were okay. They could live alongside one another. Steve was a soldier no more, and wars like that were a young man’s game. He knew, because he had fought them once.

His fingers dragged along the bannister as he made his way downstairs, shuffling barefoot in pyjama bottoms he wasn’t sure were his own. He was nearly sixty now, his body knew it too, the things they had gotten up to last night left his hips sore and his back tight with knotted muscles. Still, Steve smiled and pushed a hand through his silvery blonde hair. He had never felt quite so… light.

The troublemaker was to be found stretching in the kitchen, muscles rippling, bare bottom pert; tight and taut in his hairy thighs as he pressed up on his toes for the syrup on the top shelf. He looked like a little god, like a man in his prime, still. Steve wouldn’t get over it, and he was sure he never would. How someone could be that beautiful despite time, that handsome despite the toll of war on his body. It would never be fathomed. Steve didn’t even want to try.

“So...” Bucky chuckled without turning around. “At least we know I’m still bigger than that little guy from Brooklyn in the ways that count,” he joked.

Steve blinked and resisted a laugh at the sudden loftiness this early in the morning. “I’ll book the appointment when I head into town later…”

“The appointment?” Bucky peered over his shoulder.

“For your eye test.” Steve nodded and grabbed an apple from the counter. He stopped and glanced down his body, smirking at the glimpse of Bucky’s soft cock. “Not bigger now,” he murmured and felt himself stiffen.

***

To lie in another man’s arms, chin resting on his warm pectoral, knuckles dragging down his scarred ribs, mouth tracing along his scraggy jaw. Steve closed his eyes and tried not to be embarrassed over how wonderful it felt, how safe and quiet and peaceful it was. The world outside had made him brave and rigid, but pressed against Bucky’s heart he was anything but.

“If we had been born in a different time…” Bucky halted and grinded his jaw, bothered and too big of a man to admit it.

“I know,” Steve whispered and soothed his aching chest. “I know, Bucky.”

“We were always heading here, you and me.” Bucky nodded certainly. “Wrong time or not.”

“I know,” Steve agreed again and held him close. “I’m sorry about—”

Bucky squeezed his forearm. “Don’t be. Don’t be sorry about any of it. We’re here now and the rest is just yesterday, I’ll be here tomorrow and the day after that too, that’s what matters now.”

“What about next Wednesday?” Steve quirked a smile and pushed his hand down Bucky’s warm belly.

The adam’s apple rocks in his throat, the muscles growing stiff around his stubbled windpipe while his thick cock twitches under Steve’s palm. Bucky nods and swallows hard. 

“I’ll be here,” he promises.

“What about next month?” Steve rubs until he’s hard and long. “What about Christmas? Next year? Two years? You got anything planned?” His fingers trace along his shaft playfully, a muscle that now exists for his touch and caress only.

Bucky loses himself with a growl and a push, twisting and burying the hero into the mattress with palms on his shoulders. It makes Steve laugh, not petulantly, not with cockiness, just warmth and giddiness. It’s new and strange. It suits him, Bucky thinks.

“I’ll be here,” Bucky growls and kisses him hard.

“Well alright—” It’s murmured between frantic kisses and a war of tongues. “Stay forever then,” Steve whispered and stroked his long thick hair, cradling the back of his neck and leveraging it for a few more kisses.

Bucky takes him like they’re foolish teenagers once again, like his man of war is just a small gentle creature to be treasured and protected, all soft boned and floppy blonde hair. He isn’t either of those things anymore, Bucky remembers as he pushes in, as the superhuman man beneath him growls and moans with heat in his voice. Bucky still takes him like a thing to be treasured, kisses his neck and nibbles his collarbone, clutches his thighs and holds them tight, thrusting slowly and whispering tiny things that can only be said in the darkest hours of night.

“I love you, Steve,” Bucky growls quietly and feels every perfect inch of him from the inside out. “I love you and I don’t think I’ll ever know how to stop.”

“Don’t stop.” Steve frantically shakes his head, his body pushing down and feeling him out. “Whatever you do… don’t stop.”

  
_[You can find more of my stuff HERE.](http://halogensleep.tumblr.com) _


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